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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617527">No Way to Die</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/needles/pseuds/needles'>needles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bokuaka Detective drabbles [44]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:27:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,470</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/needles/pseuds/needles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Unremarkable in life, unnoticed in passing, death reveals a surprising past.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bokuaka Detective drabbles [44]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Way to Die</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bokuto watched from the doorway as Akaashi and Washio both crouched over the body, he had a gut feeling that this was going to be a natural death, or at least as natural a death as someone old and ignored by society for years could expect.</p>
<p>The old man who lived in the basement apartment was rarely seen, had no known friends or family. Whatever had killed him had crept up unnoticed by anyone because to society outside he was invisible. No one saw, no one heard and no one, it appeared, cared.</p>
<p>Correction, no one cared until now, now it was too late. The team cared. Bokuto knew that much. They would give him the respect he clearly had lost in life and Bokuto was grateful for that. To them he would never be just another body. He would get a dignified funeral and his name on a headstone. Akaashi would see to that, he always did.</p>
<p>The body had been lying on the worn rug for one or two weeks, the last four years had taught him to recognise that, but there was still enough tissue left for it to go to Washio first. The winter cold at least had slowed down decay.</p>
<p>He moved to the small, neat bedroom, checking the drawers and wardrobe, no signs of robbery, just as there had been no signs of a forced entry; it had been the smell of decomposition that had alerted the neighbours to the death. Everything was tidy and well kept, methodical and neat. Bokuto recognised the signs of service training. He crossed to the small dresser, a photograph of a woman in clothes that suggested the fifties smiled back at him. There were no pictures of children or other family on display.</p>
<p>He opened the drawer, neat piles of handkerchiefs and small boxes were arranged therein, he opened a box, cufflinks. The next looked different, a ring box, he opened it; a gold wedding band gleamed against the cream satin lining. It was a woman’s ring, well-worn, and he suspected it had belonged to the woman in the picture, their victim’s late wife.</p>
<p>Then he saw it at the back half hidden by handkerchiefs, a larger, flat box. Removing it he carefully opened it, within lay the distinctive blue and gold insignia of the Medal of Honour. Tucked into the lid was a slip of paper, handwritten on it were the words Bloody Ridge 1951, Sergeant F J Mitchell 9th Infantry. Bokuto closed the box reverently and took it back to the living room.</p>
<p>The body was bagged and he followed them out as they took it back to the lab.</p>
<p>“Any ideas Washio?” He knew better than to ask Akaashi to speculate on the cause of death. </p>
<p>“I’ll know better after the toxicology tests are done but I suspect it may have been carbon monoxide poisoning. There are no signs of trauma and no obvious signs of other major degenerative diseases. Add to that the antique looking appliances in the apartment, some of which were switched on when the police first got here and it’s a typical scenario. What have you got there?”</p>
<p>Bokuto opened the box and Washio whistled. “I’ll take this back and see if we can trace any family, otherwise I’ll return it to the Army; they’ll add it to the Divisional museum archives.” Bokuto told him.</p>
<p>Later the next day Washio reported his results to the team,</p>
<p>“High levels of carboxyhemoglobin together with lactic acidosis and high levels of peroxynitrite in the brain tissue mean that I am satisfied Frank Mitchell died from Carbon Monoxide poisoning.  Akaashi Sensei, did you find anything that would contradict that?”</p>
<p>Akaashi shook his head, “There was no evidence of perimortem trauma to the skeleton, the only injuries that showed on his x-rays were old and well healed; a broken ulna, probably since childhood; two fractured phalanges of the type typically associated with boxing injuries; and two healed bullet wounds, one to the left femur and one to the right scapula. Both were many years old and well healed.”</p>
<p>“That would tie in with the citation on Sgt Mitchell’s Medal of Honor,” Bokuto interjected. “He was shot twice but continued with a successful single-handed assault on a machine gun post which put the enemy weapon out of action and saved the lives of the rest of his men who had been trapped by the gunfire.”</p>
<p>“Have you traced any family?” Akaashi asked.</p>
<p>Bokuto shook his head. “There was a daughter, but she died a year ago in California, no records of a marriage or grandchildren yet, but I’m still looking. I’ve contacted the Army, unless we have family instructions to the contrary by then Sgt. Mitchell will be buried with full military honours next Saturday at Arlington.” He looked around the team. </p>
<p>Washio nodded. “We’ll be there Bokuto.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bokuto was sitting in his office the following Friday afternoon when there was a knock on his door and a woman stood there. She had blonde hair and a Californian tan, Bokuto would have put her age at late thirties, early forties.</p>
<p>“Detective Bokuto, they told me you might be able to give me some information on my grandfather?” She looked around a little nervously.</p>
<p>Bokuto smiled and motioned her to a chair. “Please come in and take a seat Miss…?”  </p>
<p>“Larsen, Inge Larsen. My grandfather was Frank Mitchell, Sergeant Frank Mitchell.”</p>
<p>Bokuto sat up. “Can you give me proof of that Miss Larsen? I’ve been trying to trace his family but found no evidence of any other than his late daughter.”</p>
<p>She nodded. “My mother. She and my father were not married and split shortly after I was born, I lived with my father after the split, my mother was not the maternal type.” She pulled out an envelope from her purse. “My father registered my birth, but he put my mother’s name down as Larsen even though she refused to marry him.” </p>
<p>She passed him a copy of her birth certificate and several photographs, one showed a man in army uniform and a woman holding a baby. </p>
<p>“My grandparents with my mother as a baby.”</p>
<p>Bokuto recognised the woman in the picture as the same one in the photograph from Frank’s apartment. </p>
<p>“My parents were both pacifists Detective, my mother especially so. She and my grandfather fell out badly over her involvement with the anti-war movement during the Vietnam War, they never spoke to each other again. As far as I know she never even told him I existed. She told me he was dead when I was a small child, and it was only last year when she was dying of lung cancer that she contacted me to tell me the truth; that he was still alive and living on the east coast. I eventually traced him through the army records, and they told me yesterday to contact you. I’m too late aren’t I, he’s dead.”</p>
<p>Bokuto looked at her sympathetically, “I’m afraid so, a few weeks ago.”</p>
<p>“Was he….?” she glanced around the room, aware that she was in the homicide division.</p>
<p>Bokuto shook his head. “Murdered? No. My team is called to all cases where the remains are difficult to identify for whatever reason. Your grandfather died from Carbon Monoxide Poisoning, most likely from a faulty domestic appliance, though we’re still working on that.”</p>
<p>“You said difficult to identify?”</p>
<p>“He’d been dead about two weeks; the body had started…”</p>
<p>“To decompose. You needn’t worry Detective, I’m a trauma nurse, I’m not squeamish. I take it the funeral has already taken place then, I would have at least liked to be there,” she said sadly.</p>
<p>“Actually, the funeral is tomorrow, it took a little time to arrange. He’s being buried with full military honours at Arlington. Unless you have any objections of course?”</p>
<p>“I do not share my parents’ objections to the military Detective, I may not approve of the politics behind each conflict but that is not the fault of individual soldiers themselves. I’m sure Arlington would have pleased him, why the honour?”</p>
<p>In answer Bokuto opened his desk drawer and pulled out the box. He passed it across to her and she opened it. “This was his?”</p>
<p>Bokuto nodded. “And now I can pass it to you.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, I shall treasure it. Will you be there tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“Of course, the whole team will be there. I’ll arrange for a car to collect you; the service is at three.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The following afternoon under a crisp blue January sky Sgt. Frank Mitchell was interred with full military honours and a dignity that befitted his courage. </p>
<p>Bokuto looked on, it was no way for a soldier to die, but he and the squints had managed at least to give a hero the memorial he deserved.</p>
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